The Sun is her servitor, the Stars are her attendants, running before her.
She sings a song unto her own ears, solitary, but it is sufficient—
It is the song of her being. Oh, if I may sing the song of my being it will be sufficient.
She is like a jeweled dancer, dancing upon a pavement of gold;
Dazzling, so that the eyes must be shaded.
She wears the stars upon her bosom and braids her hair with the constellations.
I know the Desert is beautiful, for I have lain in her arms and she has kissed me.
I have come to her, that I may know freedom;
That I may lie upon the breast of the Mother and breathe the air of primal conditions.
I have come out from the haunts of men;